


Love and Hate

by tunglo



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 15:56:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11993049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunglo/pseuds/tunglo
Summary: Alfred loves Bruce as much as he hates himself.





	Love and Hate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mimm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimm/gifts).



“You need to be more careful, Master Bruce.”

Bruce inhales sharply at the touch of his fingers to his bloodied side, though he tries his best to be gentle. Looks away from the intensity of his gaze, though he tries his best to be careful.

They have this conversation over and over again, him thinking of what Thomas would have wanted for his only son, and Bruce sitting silent and unrepentant.

“If you don’t keep yourself safe,” he says, hating the ever so slight scratch in his voice, “then who will look out for the city?”

This is where Bruce calls a close to proceedings. Where he gets summarily dismissed for the evening, free to go to his room and wonder and worry about what Bruce is doing in his own quarters. Whether or not he will take the painkillers Alfred leaves on the bedside table for him, and how much sleep he’s likely to allow himself.

That’s the way it always goes.

Except tonight Bruce looks back at him. Meets his gaze and holds it, dark eyes accusing.

“You don’t care about this city.”

It’s not true, not completely. Gotham means a lot to Bruce, and Bruce means a lot to him. It’s simply a case of degrees of separation.

“I care more about you,” is what he says aloud, as though the sentiment is beyond reproach. As though they don’t both know what it is he really means by that.

Bruce shakes his head, and whatever it was he saw out on patrol tonight it has affected him deeply. His eyes are wet, his face a touch too pale.

“I love Gotham,” Bruce says quietly, so quietly he has to strain to hear it, “but I hate it too. I hate it so much I wish it would burn to the ground sometimes.”

His hand reaches for Bruce’s cheek without his permission. His thumb strokes across a still healing cut before he can stop himself.

“It’s taken a lot from you. It will take everything if you let it.”

“I love you,” Bruce continues, as if Alfred hadn’t even spoken.

As if his heart isn’t seizing up in his chest, cold fear clawing at his gut at the realization that this it. This is the moment where they’re actually going to talk about it.

Bruce brings a hand up to cover his own, pressing Alfred’s palm to his cheek, a cruel mockery of a lover’s caress.

“But it’s not the right kind of love, is it? I hate that you want more from me.”

It stings like a knife - burns like Hellfire.

Bruce just clings tighter to his hand, anchoring him in place.

“I hate that I want to give it to you. I _love_ you, Alfred. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

If he were a good man, this is where he would do the right thing. This is the juncture where he would get up and walk away, and give Bruce a chance at normality.

He isn’t a good man though. He never has been.

Bruce knows, he has no doubt of that. He can see it in see it in Bruce's eyes and hear it in his startled inhale. He can taste it, even, in the first tentative touch of Bruce's lips to his own.

“I love you so much it scares me,” he whispers.

'I love you as much as I hate myself,' is what he doesn't voice. 

Because love and hate aren't so different really, not deep down. They're both overwhelming, all consuming, and - though it cuts to the quick to admit it - one day when the former is gone, when Bruce realizes how much he has taken from him, perhaps all they'll have left is the latter.


End file.
